


wont

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, CEO!Arme, M/M, barista!Knight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 21:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10144262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: The blue-haired manager comes every morning (and most afternoons) and only orders one thing, even if with slight alterations here and there. (What Elsword doesn’t know is that Arme doesn’t come in on Thursdays, as they are Elsword’s days off, he learned.)“The usual?” the redhead asks, just to make sure.





	

Being absolutely honest about it, he could go to any of the other coffee shops down the street if he wanted to; the Starbucks prices are a little too high and it’s always crowded, at least in this one. And yet, he doesn’t.

He pushes the front door open and is greeted by the usual cozy smell of coffee and sugary condiments, and the bustle and hustle of people. He dislikes the morning rush, but even that is something he can easily overlook when he glances to the counter and sees his sole reason for coming in (coffee aside).

The red-haired barista, with eyes like flames and smile like an ancient statue of marble, carved to perfection. Those very eyes turn to him and that smile — God, that smile — spreads on the boy’s lips almost unconsciously.

Arme finds himself mirroring it as he walks up the counter, where the smell of coffee is the strongest. Elsword’s hand reaches for the stacks of cups and curls around a venti one, already more than familiar with Arme’s order.

The blue-haired manager comes every morning (and most afternoons) and only orders one thing, even if with slight alterations here and there. (What Elsword doesn’t know is that Arme doesn’t come in on Thursdays, as they are Elsword’s days off, he learned.)

“The usual?” the redhead asks, just to make sure.

Arme’s eyes are on him rather than the menu — and they are soft and sharp all at the same time, like he’s looking at Elsword and straight through him, and it brings a shiver down his spine — and it only takes a split second before Arme tells him, “Yeah, the usual is perfect.”

He grabs the cup, scribbles onto it, and goes through the practiced moves of pumping in the flavor and waiting for the water to boil.

Usually, he has to focus on the order, because despite how long he’d been working here, he still doesn’t remember all the recipes off the top of his head, but this one he knows by heart, could probably make even at midnight and blindfolded.

Thankfully there’s no queue after Arme, so Elsword doesn’t have to worry about hurrying. (Once Arme waited for his coffee forty minutes because the machine broke and Elsword was the only one in and had to call help that took too long to come. He didn’t complain at all, and even refused to get it for free. That might’ve been the first time Elsword looked at him more differently than he would a customer, when they talked about something mundane to fill the silence. Elsword can’t remember what exactly they talked about, but he remembers laughing until his eyes stung, remembers being surprised that Arme, who looks stoic and like he only cares about his job, is genuinely funny.)

Arme’s eyes are on him the entire time he prepares the drink, and usually, customers watching him and silently urging him to hurry up — how the hell should he hurry up it’s not like he can speed up the fucking machines! — make him sick and irritated, but with Arme, there’s neither. The tall man doesn’t urge him on, but rather watches with interest as he goes through the motions like they’re second nature to him.

The cup is set onto the counter and Elsword doesn’t even have to call the name, because Arme didn’t move an inch, aside from checking his phone once. (It made his brows crease and lips turn up in disgust, and Elsword immediately knew what kind of e-mail he’d gotten.)

“Good luck at the meeting,” he says as Arme takes the warm cup, pulling out his card to swipe it at the terminal.

He seems stunned at the wish momentarily, looking at Elsword like he doesn’t understand why he knows — and he knows, they’d talked about Arme’s job a few times, when it was closing time and Elsword was on duty, sweeping the floors while Arme drank an iced mocha latte, talking about the meeting he’d had and how much he’d wanted to gut the director and pretty much everyone else in the entire room. Then he smiles, tenseness melting from his eyes.

“Thanks,” he says, and as he puts away his credit card, he notices the messily-scribbled heart on his cup, in the place of a name. His insides feel lighter, somehow, and he looks up at Elsword, who is still beaming at him, always just as enthusiastic as ever. “Do you close again tonight?” Arme asks, the idea of coming in late and relaxing within the quietness of the usually loud coffee shop very pleasing.

There’s something weirdly nice about a place that’s usually so full, so loud, being empty and quiet and almost serene. Nothing but him and Elsword and the quiet drawl of the radio from the ceiling speakers; the two of them dancing over the just-cleaned floor and drinking sweet tea from one giant mug, all work and worries forgotten momentarily.

“Yeah,” Elsword says, and by the look on his face, his thoughts aren’t far from Arme’s, and for that, the blue haired man is glad. “Are you gonna come in again?” he asks, like he wants to make sure.

“If you’d like me to.”

“I would.”

(He has a playlist of songs ready on his phone, and spent an actual hour last week searching for the right cable that could hook up his phone to the ceiling speakers. The idea of being alone with Arme again is a nice one, and he can feel the butterflies humming in his stomach already.)

“You can tell me all about the meeting,” Elsword laughs, and that settles it.

“I’ll see you in the evening then,” Arme nods, and dips down to press his lips against the boy’s. Elsword tastes better than any coffee ever could, and the premise of getting to taste him again makes even the upcoming meeting seem okay.


End file.
